


je t'aime?

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Demonstuck [8]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Demonstuck, F/F, F/M, but atm this is it, d and reaux are both disaster bisexuals, dolorosa is a succubus, like i may come back and do another chapter, no sex lmao, oneshot (sorry)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 13:17:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18572269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Reaux and D are on an information-gathering mission. Unfortunately, they're both easily distracted...but the distraction might be exactly what they're looking for.





	je t'aime?

A bar is not a good environment for your brother. (Honestly, it's not the best environment for you, either, but you've partially solved it by both taking _your_ car rather than his, and leaving your driver's licence in the car. They probably won't serve you if you don't have that. You hope.) 

D's issues lie more with the amount of background chatter and the pure volume of people than with the nature of this place, though; he barely makes it through the door before you see his shoulders start to tense up. He hasn't taken off his mirrored aviators yet (you're not sure if that's a conscious choice or not) so you can't see his eyes, but you're fairly sure that they're already glazing over. 

Too many people, too much noise, not enough time for him to adjust. Damn. "D," you murmur, putting one hand on his arm, "go wait in the car." 

"And leave you in a bar alone. Right, because I totally _won't_ get killed for that when your daughters find out." Your brother keeps his voice just as low as yours, patting your hand before reaching up to slide his shades off. "I'd like to not get crucified by teenagers, thanks. Hey, do we have a cover?" 

"You do know you can't change the subject that easily, D." 

"You sure about that, Reaux?" He gives you a bright smile that makes you want to fish an ice cube out of the nearest beverage and stuff it down his pants. "But like, are we _together_ , or should I flirt for info?" 

"Are you sure you're even competent to flirt at this point?" You're fairly sure that to anyone more than a few feet away, it currently looks like _you're_ flirting with _him._ Excellent; that should establish him as desirable for anyone paying even a modicum of attention. "Information, darling. That's what you're after tonight."

"Info," D repeats, and you know from the way that his mouth quirks up that he's as amused by that _darling_ as you are. 

"Yes." 

"And phone numbers." Well, maybe that was devilry rather than amusement. 

You don't know what else you expected. "No. No phone numbers." 

"Aw, Reaux, c'mon—" 

"We're _working_ , D." When you shift your grip to his shoulder, he lets you turn him around and usher him off towards the bar itself with a shove aimed a bit lower than you'd use if you weren't attempting to make anyone else watching jealous. "Shoo." 

He goes. You also go, but to the other end of the bar, scanning the crowd as you do. They're human, as far as you can tell; Roxy offered to test a design that she's posited to divine true natures, but anywhere that it wouldn't be noticed and recognized for what it was would run the risk of the ink smearing, and you're...not entirely sure that you're up for having pigments injected into your skin by a teenager. Even if she does swear that the type of magic she embeds in the tattoos breaks them down within a week. You're fine with good old fashioned intuition and deduction. 

Or maybe you're not. After all, everyone here _seems_ human, but English's divination pointed you here to solve your mystery; there must be _something_. The boy is, as all people are, fallible, but his oracle is decidedly less so. 

Ugh. You want a drink. Something clear and cold, that'll burn going down and let you relax enough to finish this job...

You lean over the bar and order the most brightly colored soft drink you can see bottled on the back wall. It'll have to do. 

As expected, it's sickly-sweet and the exact opposite of satisfying. And you're still halfway through it when D slips back through the crowd to rejoin you. 

Oh, _hell_. He's grinning. And he has a mostly-empty glass in his hand. Not an auspicious combination. 

"Reaux, guess who I just met?" 

"Someone who can give us the information we need on the rogue vampire." (You doubt it.)

"Maybe!" His smile doesn't even flicker as he takes the seat next to you, draining the last of the liquid from his glass and catching the bartender's eye. When she steps across to refill whatever he's having, though, you put your hand over the cup and give her a winning smile, sliding a bill that's much more than the cost of the drink your brother was about to receive across the smooth bartop to her. 

"Darling, this isn't exactly the best situation to compromise your reaction time," you murmur to D as the woman blinks in surprise at the tip and retreats to another patron, leaving his glass unfilled. 

"It's fuckin' decaf tea, Reaux—" 

"...what." You have to lean back and look at him again, and yes, you were right the first time—D looks like he's had at least one drink and maybe two. His bearing, the way his eyes don't quite focus on you, the easy smile smeared across his face like lipstick kisses... " _Please_ tell me you didn't leave your drink unattended." 

"Are you saying I got myself roofied?" 

"You look like you've gotten yourself _somethinged._ "  
That costs him a moment's thought, during which the idiot grin fades a bit. Then it's back full force as he announces, "I found _literally_ the hottest woman I've ever seen in my goddamn _life_ —" 

Oh for the love of all that's holy. You roll your eyes and resist the temptation to dump the remainder of your neon pink beverage down his white shirt, opting to instead reach up and lay two fingers across his lips. (That silences him purely because you've spent years following that gesture up with beating the stuffing out of him until he shuts up.) 

"D," you say, very calmly, "we are not here for you to hook up." 

"But—" 

"Rogue vamp, D. Remember? I know it's difficult, but can you at least _try_ to keep sight of the issues at hand?" 

He jerks his head away from your fingers impatiently, catching your wrist when you go to muzzle him again. "Pretty sure she's not human, sis." 

"Even more reason for you to not start with the amorous advances." 

"Why the hell do you think I'm over _here_ , exactly?" D huffs and runs one hand through his hair, sweeping his bangs back from his forehead and incidentally ruining the sleekness you managed to give him in the car. You're almost irritated, but the helpless look he gives you precludes that. "There's three people here who ain't human, and I got a feeling about her being the one Jake sent us here for." 

"And you're sure that you're not doing that thing where you fall in love at the slightest provocation?"

"Oh my fucking _god_ , Reaux—" 

"Calm down, brother dearest." You shouldn't tease him like that, you suppose, but it's _funny_. "Let's go talk to her together, then."

* * *

Oh, dear. 

She's... _stunning._ Even before D points her out you know which one she is; you can't _believe_ you didn't notice her the moment you walked in. Even tucked away at a table in the corner you should have seen her; you've been trained to see what's out of the ordinary, and she certainly is. 

You're not sure just what gives her the aura that you feel—she _looks_ human, a woman in a dark green shirt whose height you can't accurately gauge while she's sitting but with a presence that's far greater than almost anyone else you've met, skin the color of whiskey in a crystal glass and green eyes under black hair cut short enough that you suspect she either did it herself or went to a barber rather than a hairdresser; you know from experience with Rose that the latter aren't too cooperative in chopping off that much of what they perceive as femininity.

This beauty proves that long hair isn't needed for seduction; you're lost from the moment that she looks up, the second those jade eyes meet yours, the instant a curious smile lights up her face. You'd wonder where she traces her lineage to, if she was human—Japan? China? Somewhere in that half of the world, you don't know enough to pinpoint precisely where—but demons shape their human forms from their environment, not their genetics. 

Not that you're wondering much of anything, at the moment. You're not entirely sure that you're actually _thinking_ at all. Your brother wasn't wrong when he said she was the most attractive woman he's ever seen. 

Beside you, D makes a soft, faintly defeated sound that's close kin to a groan. The portion of your mind that isn't fully taken with the woman at the corner table points out that this is almost certainly because he's just been shoved back into the role of being the responsible one again. The functioning portion of your mind is dismayed at this. 

That portion is also very small, so when the woman stifles a laugh and nods at the vacant seats at her table, you take the one on her right without hesitation.

D takes the chair on your right, with just enough hesitation that you know he's _forcing_ himself to hesitate, and to not take the chair he's left empty between you and her. His ability to switch emotional tracks still amazes you, sometimes. 

"Pardon the intrusion," you tell her as smoothly as you can manage, which isn't quite as much as you planned. "My name is Reaux Lalonde." 

(This is where you should _also_ state your purpose. You can't remember it. Damn.) 

"Mine's D Strider," your brother jumps in when you stall. "We got told we should talk to you, ask you about—" 

The woman raises an eyebrow, focusing on him rather than you. You feel a pang of dismay (or possibly jealousy) as D goes silent under that regard. 

"Somehow, I don't think either of you even know my name." (Oh dear gods her _voice_. Registers deeper than yours at this volume, low and intimate and so, so sweet.) 

"We know what you are, if not who." There, _now_ you're capable of remembering why you're here again. "Succubus. Likely either celibate or very, very careful, since there's no reports of the kind of death your kind causes—" 

She laughs, and you lose the thread of your sentence. Turns her eyes toward you again, and were you standing you would simply melt. "Hunters?" 

"Not huntin' you, sweetheart." D's voice has gone a little less careful than usual, closer to the accent he picked up before he was sixteen and lost in the years between then and now, the one he finds again when he's stressed or tired or close to arousal. "There's vampires, somewhere 'round here. Maybe just one rogue, maybe a fuckin' nest, but they kill 'n don't drink, 'n that's enough for y'all to call us for help." 

She blinks at the mention of vampires. You think she goes tense, but you're too caught up in her eyes to be sure. Her voice changes with her next sentence, though, drifts away from playful seduction and closer to threat, which is...still somehow seductive, unfortunately. 

"I am not exactly the right person to come to with a vendetta against vampires, dearest." At least she's still looking at D as she says that; you _want_ to swoon at the very idea of her calling you dearest, but willpower is enough to stave it off, for the moment. 

For you, at least. D very obviously trembles, eyelids flickering almost shut for a moment. You're fairly sure that neither of those things are good signs. 

Leaning over to put one hand on the lovely succubus's shoulder is not, perhaps, the best way to prevent her from influencing your brother any further, but you'd be lying if you claimed you weren't dying for the chance to touch her. Even through a layer of cloth, there's something electric in this moment...although that might just be her gaze fastening on you again. 

You need to _focus._ Which means closing your eyes, even if that doesn't help as much as you'd hoped. It isn't just her eyes that captures you; it's everything about her. 

Closing your eyes gives you back the ability to find speech, though. Barely. "We're not _that_ sort of hunters." Gods, you wish she'd given her name. "We...protect, where we can." 

She makes a doubtful sound, brushing your hand off her shoulder. You suppose you should have taken it away as soon as you'd caught her attention. You suppose you should open your eyes again. 

(You don't intend to. Not yet.) 

"That isn't what I've heard of, from Striders," she says, and D spits out a curse that has you opening your eyes purely because when he's as angry as he sounds, injury isn't far behind. His injury, usually. 

But he's sitting very still beside you, wine-red eyes blazing and hands clenched on the table. "That fucker ain't one of us anymore." It comes out flat and yet somehow combative, and you mentally check where you've stashed weapons as you look back to the succubus. 

She raises one sleek eyebrow in an obvious query, and expands on it after a second of silence. "He uses your name." 

"Yeah." 

"And you let him." 

D makes a wordless sound, closing his eyes. You answer for him. "Derrick is currently our best hope to find one of our younger family members. That's all that's buying him clemency." 

The succubus stares at you for what seems like a very long time. It might actually _be_ a very long time; you're not sure. Somehow, you manage to meet her gaze without faltering or losing yourself; maybe it's the thread of anger still twisting through your chest at D being compared to the bastard you can't wait to kill one day, when your youngest brother comes home at last. 

(Or when you find his bones. You're horribly afraid that that's all you'll ever see of Dave again, when you let yourself think of it too long.) 

The succubus finally smiles again, although the teeth she shows are pointed now. Another threat, balanced by the submission she shows in lowering her eyes for a moment. "Family matters _are_ the most difficult to sort out." 

"No fuckin' shit," D mutters. Under the table, his hand finds yours, squeezing it in what's almost a child's bid for reassurance. 

You squeeze back, of course. He's your _brother_ ; you'll reassure him when he needs it. 

Perhaps the succubus can tell what the two of you are doing, because she smiles and the sharp teeth are normal again, as she leans back from the table. "My daughter might be able to help you." 

"Daughter?" D's head cocks to one side, and you immediately know he's going to say something stupid. "Rare for y'all to have kids, yeah?" 

"...'y'all.'" She blinks at him in what looks very like confusion, before sighing and raising a hand to rub her eyes. "I suppose that's better than 'your kind.' Somewhat." 

"Hey, what'm I supposed to say? Everything I've heard says succubi almost never have kids." 

"Concubi." 

"Huh?" 

"Concubi. Those who lie beside. The collective term for...my kind." Her face goes faintly amused, as she uses the word she just said she was glad your brother didn't. " _Your_ kind coined it, ages ago." 

You have to ask. "Our kind as in humans? Or hunters?"   
Instead of answering, she laughs and rises to her feet. (The room goes silent, at the sound.) "Come. Oh, and Reaux?" 

"Yes?" 

"My name is Dolorosa Maryam." 

You don't think you've ever heard a name more beautiful.


End file.
